WHEN WILD ONES GROW WEARY

When you love a wild thing,
it is impossible to return to being tame,

once he has gone.

You can pretend you are civilized,

but the twitch of your whiskers will,

sooner or later, betray you.

Stalking the sunset,

sweet memories will accompany you.

The thought of that little wolf-pup,

gamboling along the beach,

and, when he was bigger,

plunging in and out of the surf
with a loopy grin,

will bring a smile, and a tear.

Love is joy. And then pain.

But oh! the remembering!

so bittersweet.

Forever, now,

I will listen for his song.

I will live all the day long

remembering,

a weary wolf woman

with wolf howls in my heart.

 I created this poem by using titles of four of my poems.